


Tangled With Me

by LeoOtherLands



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Because flower kink should be a thing..., Birthday Party, Birthday Sex, Canon's been taken out back and shot, I wanted Evan in a suit so sue me, Little bit of sabotage, M/M, Rare Pairings, Spanking, sex in a garden
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:15:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26095480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeoOtherLands/pseuds/LeoOtherLands
Summary: Jake doesn't so much like stuffy parties and decides to have some fun with Evan MacMillan's birthday party. Evan decides to have some fun with Jake in return.
Relationships: Evan MacMillan | The Trapper/Jake Park
Comments: 12
Kudos: 39





	Tangled With Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tridraconeus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tridraconeus/gifts).



> So, happy birthday! You said it was coming up and my mind instantly said, "We should write some smut." And now it's your birthday and here's some smut. Lol. Hope you enjoy, man.

The MacMillan manor was lit up like a piece of faceted crystal strung on a chandelier. The whole of the rambling, two-story edifice glowed and glittered like some faux gem. Every window lit, every door thrown open on the cool midnight hour to admit air into the rooms crowded with bedecked and oh-so-cultured guests and to let out false, electric light and equally false, tinkling laughter into the far-less pretentious night over the MacMillan estate.

And why not? The heir to it all, all the glitz and glitter, and all the money in the bank accounts, was having a birthday. Evan MacMillan had made an appearance early in the evening in a tailored black suit, high boots, and a bloody-red tie. His attire had clung on him like a second skin and like the careful, neutral expression painted on his sculpted, _refined_ , features. I’d caught sight of him again over dinner but then lost all trace of him.

I didn’t much care. I didn’t much care for Evan MacMillan, or what number he was celebrating. We’d known each other by face since I was a kid: Evan MacMillan and Jake Park, sons of two of the richest men in the state. Why wouldn’t we know each other? Only, it was more like knowing _of_ each other than _knowing_ each other. He’d always been older than me, conscientious, while I’d always been a good for nothing, constantly getting into trouble. Getting into trouble on purpose and with a hang the consequences attitude. The bane of my father’s existence, the one certain to ruin the family. So, maybe it was no wonder we didn’t get on together. It wasn’t like we were well suited to each other.

So, though Evan MacMillan was the reason I was there, Evan MacMillan was the furthest thing from my mind. I’d been playing it easy all evening, lazy, as if I wasn’t interested in the party, but wasn’t interested in committing any crime against it, either. Even I had my moments of decent behavior, and after a while, I must have convinced my father enough to be left alone because he went off and abandoned me to my own devices. A mistake on his part because in all reality, I’d been making myself intimate with the MacMillan’s electrical system since arriving. A few minor adjustments and, right around the time all the silk-clad, bejeweled party goers were gathered in the main hall, under that massive net of metal and glass called a chandelier, I was ready for a little show.

And all I had to do was wait for it.

Strategically positioned near a wide patio door, leaned up against the frame, arms and ankles crossed, wrinkling my suit in all the wrong ways, I was the only one to hear the first, soft snaps and sparks mixed with the crystal above. Like the dance of cracks across the surface of ice in the winter.

At the sound, I glanced up, undisturbed, and watched the whole of that glorious configuration called a chandelier come apart. Or, appear to. Bulbs burst in glinting pieces and cut glass pendants winked in reflected electrical sparks. Shorting the thing out had really been remarkably easy. And watching the startled party guests react was remarkably more entertaining than the party.

People looked up, one or two at first, but by the time the incandescents exploded, all faces were upturned. There were some sharp, high cries and deeper exclamations, but when the light popped out in the room and the rest of the electricity in the house sputtered and joined it in darkness, there was a universal, collective “Ahhhh!” like a low moan of fright and surprise.

Glass crunched under boots and heels, and some shrieked in mounting dismay the sharp-edged stuff was in their hair, but beside some tripping and stumbling there was no sign of greater injury to person or property. Which was just what I had in mind. I wanted a bit of chaos and amusement, not to hurt anyone in any way that couldn’t be fixed with a wallet full of money and an electrician.

Satisfied with my tiny production of mayhem, I unfolded from the door and side-stepped out onto the patio before anyone could think to blame me. Or my father start to look for me. It wouldn’t take him long to guess I’d been the one responsible. He knew me too well.

The patio was unfitted brick with trim grass growing between in some artful design it was now, thanks to me, too dark to see. I crossed it and started off across the lawn. The MacMillan’s grounds were large and before I knew it, I was slightly lost in the gardens.

Not that I minded. The moon dappled everything in sable and silver, ink and frosted sheen, and I thought this was far preferable to the claustrophobic house I’d left behind. Honestly, whose idea of enjoyment was packing that many dull people into one enclosed space? I thought whoever it was must be mad.

A subtle breeze whiffed the mingled scents of sweet, growing things to my nose. Around my feet and over my head, dim, indistinguishable things bloomed in an array of bled-out color. I thought I could glimpse Cosmos with its large blooms, Lilac in heavy, hanging clumps, Anemone, Bergenia, Ageratum, Convallaria majalis under foot. I had to brush Bleeding Hearts out of my path, and duck under the low hanging branches they clung to, the further I pushed into the far reaches of the MacMillan’s garden. Here, in the hinterlands of the property, the grounds were not so much untended as poorly tended, let run riot at the mercy of merciless nature.

The only sign of human interaction in these semi-wilds an ancient gazebo, painted a failing white and shrouded in _Wisteria_. It looked like a ghost done in shade and draped in moonlight, and it drew me toward it for the sake of its solemnity, there in the forsaken tangles of flowers and trees. I paused in the entranceway, looking into its shadows, but not taking the single step up into them. There were scattered leaves and benches around the perimeter, but nothing else inside, except the muted scent of the Wisteria lingering on the air.

Lonely. That’s what the place was, and I liked it. Unthinking, I pulled out a cigarette and put it to my lips. The flame of my lighter sparked and flickered between my fingers and the smoke wreathed my face, catching in my dark hair when I exhaled. A moment to breathe, that’s all it was.

Or, at least I thought so. Suddenly, there was a force behind me, radiating heat and the crackle of energy along my skin. My wrist was compressed so quickly I dropped my cigarette and it was crushed out underfoot before I could turn and find out what had assaulted me. Evan MacMillan stood there, his suit jacket slung over his shoulder, his fingers hooked in the collar, his tie loosened, and his serene face appraising me with clear danger.

“You’re a mischief maker, Jake Park,” he rumbled, voice not lifting to disturb the night or insects that called to each other.

I felt I should have been concerned, but I only found myself doing what I always did when faced with danger: smiling at it, my lips curling into an almost smirk, despite the fact I had to look up at him to aim it proper.

“I just know how to have more fun than you, Evan MacMillan.”

“That so,” he murmured, pressing a step closer to me, his white shirt pale and luminous in the silvery light.

Unconsciously, I took a step back from him, my ankles running up against something sharp and biting. I glanced back, saw it was the gazebo step, and stepped back up into the structure. Evan followed me, stalking me.

“You shorted out the entire manor, Park.”

“And what?” I asked, continuing to back away from him, “you came all the way out here to catch me? What are you, a trapper?”

Something flickered in his eyes, but far from denying it, Evan MacMillan just kept pacing toward me and returned, “And you’re a saboteur.”

Something hard hit my back, catching me up short, and I snapped my head around. I’d run up against one of the posts holding up the gazebo’s roof. Evan chuckled low, and I whipped my attention back to him, to note the man neatly draping his suit coat over a bench and further loosening his tie as he pressed in on me.

“You destroyed a carefully planned celebration, Jake Park.” Before I could fully digest the words, one of Evan MacMillan’s hands was around my throat, shoving me into the post and pinning me there.

My heart did a stutter. Again, I should have been afraid. Evan’s hand circled my neck with ease and could just as easily crushed it, but Evan MacMillan wasn’t even squeezing. He was just holding me there. Watching me. His eyes sparkling in the filtered moonlight coming through the Wisteria.

I squirmed in his hold and the hand on me loosened, allowing me to break free, if I wished. Which made no sense if he wanted to do me harm and, as I shifted my hips to angle away from the post and bolt, my leg brushed up against something in the birthday boy’s pants that gave me new notions of what was happening here.

Evan MacMillan was _playing_. He had a _game_ in mind, and I knew just what _game_ he was thinking of. It wasn’t exactly what I’d expected of the sedate, seemingly reserved, and polished man, but I knew this game and wasn’t above playing. One more squirm to make sure Evan would let me go if I really wanted to high tail it, and I just settled back against the post with warmth heating my gut, a tingle low down below my belly, and a cocky grin splitting my lips.

“You going to punish me, MacMillan?” The words were out and Evan’s eyes seemed to shift shades with my acceptance of his desire to play.

“Don’t tempt me, boy,” he growled low.

“I’m not your boy,” I spat, real annoyance in the words. I might have decided to have some actual fun at Evan’s god-forsaken party, but I hadn’t agreed to be insulted in the mix.

The hand on my throat tightened just a fraction. “You are tonight,” Evan rumbled, and I found myself glowering up at him, my cheeks heating with something between hot outrage and the little, flipping sensation going on in the pit of my stomach. Waves of heated anticipation were crawling up my spine and prickling along my skin. Damn the man. He shouldn’t be able to make me angry and horny all at once.

A flippant, brash, and fully unsustainable retort rose to my lips, only to be driven away before I could deliver it. As if sensing it, or seeing it forming in my eyes like a storm cloud, Evan grunted and suddenly that hand was off my neck. Instead, I was turned so quickly and thoroughly my world spun. Then all the air in my lungs was knocked out of me in a soft, surprised huff, as I was shoved back up against that post Evan had chased me into. The man in question’s leg was wedged up between my thighs, pushing them open and unsettling my balance, all at once, so all I could do was scramble at the wood in an attempt to stay upright.

And like that, with my world still reeling around and my cheek pressed drunkenly up to that splintery wood, looking for traction anywhere I could find it, Evan’s hand came down on my backside in a sharp smack so hard my face was rammed into the post and I yelped, high and pissed off.

“Hey!” I tossed over my shoulder at him, when I was able to gulp some air into my throat, further annoyance coloring the word because this was _not_ what I anticipated. This was not the game I thought Evan MacMillan intended to play, and if he had only gotten me into this position, at his practical _mercy_ , just to tan my hide, I was less than pleased.

“You’re being punished, Park,” Evan murmured in my ear, voice low and somehow dark. Smoky. Sending odd tingles down my spine and between my legs. “Or, have you forgotten?”

It should have added to my aggravation, but Evan’s hand was cupping my still-prickling ass in a way that had nothing to do with punishment. Cupping it and gently kneading it, sliding lower to where his leg was rocking up into my crotch, and as much as I didn’t want to admit it, the blood flow to that area was beginning to show itself. Fuck, Evan MacMillan was a bastard!

I licked my lips, mouth suddenly gone dry, and attempted to keep my hips from stuttering stupidly. More heat flooded my cheeks and Evan chuckled mildly, obviously feeling my problem pressing on his thigh.

“That’s a good boy.”

The line of praise that fully flushed my face with blatant rage and bitterly unfortunate lust, was accompanied by a soft rub and then another stinging smack to my backside. I was jarred into the post with a sound like a half growl that ended on a whimper not having anything to do with the fact Evan wasn’t exactly aiming at being nice. Playful, inciting, but not nice.

I stood three more hits, fingers clawing at the post, doing my best to stay quiet and not let on how much this was making my pants too tight, before I got fed up. “Enough already!” I snarled, squirming and pushing at the post, inadvertently pushing myself back against Evan and forcing home the idea in my mind that MacMillan was liking having me like this. _Liking_ it very much, from the feel of him fully at attention against my back.

Part of me thought Evan would remind me this was what I got for being a prick and wrecking his birthday party, but the man let me have a few inches and something of my way. He reached around me for the buckle of my pants, obviously now in a mood to indulge me. Or himself. Whichever. It didn’t really matter as he pushed the material down over my hips and commanded, “Step out of them, Park.”

I wiggled and wobbled in an effort to do just that, without tripping over myself in the process, and eventually managed to do as asked and kick off my shoes at the same time. Evan skimmed his hands over my probably red ass and my hips, as if pleased with my obedience, then gripped me around the middle and tipped me over the gazebo’s railing.

It was a bit dizzying, but I just snagged the edge of the rail and hung on. Behind me there was the rustle of fabric and the click of a jar opening. I frowned at the thought Evan had somehow come _prepared_ for this, but the notion slipped away when two of Evan’s slick fingers prodded at me, then just pressed right in, without preamble. I thought the two at once was a bit _uncalled for_ and the stretch not exactly comfortable, but the lube made it basically alright and Evan seemed insistent on either torturing me with how long he was taking or in making damn good and sure I was ready before doing anything _useful_ and I didn’t know which.

“Slow, MacMillan,” I panted, when I felt this indignantly had really gone on long enough. As pathetically breathless as it came out, I meant it as a taunt, and Evan’s fingers stopped, letting me squirm like the man on a hook I was before he took his digits out of me.

My mind advised it would be a good time to hang onto that rail harder for balance, but before I could follow through on that decent idea, I was again manuvoured so quickly into the way Evan wanted me, I could hardly keep up. The man turned me over and picked me up off the ground like I weighed as much as paper. He wedged my back up against the post and almost seemed to drop me right down until his cock, all at once.

In that precarious position, with my feet up off the ground and the only things keeping me from falling Evan MacMillan’s hands on my backside and dick in my ass, I realized several things rather belatedly. Namely, I’d lost my chance of doing anything but verbally picking at the man. Held up this way, I couldn’t even move my hips, leaving it all to Evan to set his own murderous pace, and that wasn’t fair, the prick. Also… Evan was rather larger than I’d expected and in this position he had basically used my own weight to drive himself all the way into me in one thrust. Before Evan even started to move, I crumbled up at the sensation, almost collapsed forward with my arms around his neck, seeing dark stars dance in front of my eyes.

That was what I got for egging Evan MacMillan on… The… fucking… bastard…

Oh, this game wasn’t bad at all, I managed to think gleefully in the scarce moment preceding Evan taking all rational thought out of my head. Maybe my accusation of his being slow had really rankled him because now there was nothing slow about it and I simply hung on to his neck and shoulders, distantly wishing I had the ability to let go and touch myself. Wishing that so much, while I clung there, panting and gasping, straining at every thrust Evan aimed so very accurately. He knew right where he was going and I wanted to scream at the fact I needed to _come right now_ and had no way to tip myself over the last, little peak.

Luckily, Evan took care of that for me, letting go of one side of me, making me yelp, yet again, for fear of being dropped, and using that hand he’d freed to stroke me.

A few simple caresses and it was over before I realized I’d _finally_ hit my height. And then there was nothing but afterglow and the further realization of exactly how intertwined with Evan I was. When the evening had started, I hadn’t anticipated it to end with Evan MacMillan tangled with me like this. But then, I reasoned, I hadn’t gotten him a gift, so maybe this counted.

“Happy… birthday,” I huffed, and Evan chuckled into my ear.

“Thanks for wrecking it, Park.”

“It… needed… some wrecking!” I argued, and Evan repeated his sound of amusement before setting me down on my own two feet.

“I might have to consider wrecking you again, Jake Park.”

I let myself glare up at the taller man, who likely could wreck me quite easily. “You’ll have to catch me first, Trapper.”

His eyes flickered again in the moonlight and then he was moving away from me. Picking up his suit coat and slinging it back over his shoulder. “It wouldn’t be any fun if I didn’t need too, Saboteur.”

Watching him go, looking so cool, calm, and collected, while I stood there all disheveled, undressed from the waist down, with cum leaking down my thighs, I realized something else. I couldn’t even remember when he’d tucked himself away or straightened his clothes, and he had no right to look like that!

“Bastard!” I hurled after him into the night, even as I pondered the fact perhaps Evan MacMillan and I might get on together, after all. In our own way.

**Author's Note:**

> This salty ball of angst and glitter is an original fiction author and fan fiction writer, who literally lives for comments and reader interaction. Even if this is nothing but inarticulate vowel screams, lol. He exist on a flotilla of social media, separated into a wide array writery things.
> 
> If you are crazy enough to want to see what I'm writing on any given day, and maybe try tempting me into writing something specific, feel free to join me in my personal writing Discord [Midway](https://discord.gg/jsQw96p), or friend me on Discord at LeoOtherland#7066 if you would rather chat one on one.
> 
> On Facebook I can be located on my [author page](https://www.facebook.com/LeoOtherland/) for all things original fiction, or in the [AO3 Armada group](https://www.facebook.com/groups/601270063618951) for all things fan fiction.
> 
> On [Twitter](https://twitter.com/RoseOfOtherLand) or [Tumbler](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/leootherlands) I primarily run with the fan fiction crowd and I seldom post and/or tweet anything, but if you want to drop me a line, I am always up for a chat.


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